


Coming to Terms

by KipDigress



Series: Coming to terms [1]
Category: Ashes to Ashes (UK TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Don't bet against Alex!, F/M, Gen, Happy endings require patience, What Happened After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22292104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KipDigress/pseuds/KipDigress
Summary: The team may be gone, but Gene Hunt still has a job to do. Two jobs, in fact.That doesn't mean to say he's not looking forward to the day he will be able to hang up his badge and gun and walk through the door to his boozer one last time.
Relationships: Alex Drake/Gene Hunt
Series: Coming to terms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643671
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	1. 1983

The police station felt empty. There were plenty of people around: uniform were always out and about, and criminals did have a preference for the dark. Even C.I.D. was busy with Terry, Bammo, Poirot, Cotsey and the others sorting out the paperwork from their latest takedown. Somehow, in their absence, the room had been tidied, desks righted, piles of paper, typewriters and anything else returned to their proper places. But the small group of officers who had formed his crack team were no longer there. Abandoned desks, nameplates never again to have their owners answer to a request.

He stopped by the comparatively tidy desk just to the right of the door - D. I. Drake; she had been so very different to the rest of the team. The number engraved in the desktop surprised him. She'd never said anything about it, but he vaguely remembered Alex saying something to Shaz one day about graffiti. That was months ago. If she'd had these questions for that long, it was hardly a surprise they'd reverted to shouting at each other on the slightest provocation. Without knowing exactly why he did it, he swept up the engraved strip of metal as he stepped past, slipping it into his coat pocket.

His office, which had remained untouched even as Keats threw the rest of C.I.D. into disarray, wasn't quite as he had left it either. Keats, he thought. The audacious bastard. A bottle of blendy - decent stuff though, he had to allow the tosser that - next to a tumbler, specifications for a Mercedes. Well, even he could take a hint. He poured himself a measure and settled to see what he thought of Jim Keats' suggestion about a suitable car for a D.C.I.. He'd have to make a decision soon.

An unknown voice caused him to look up. Great, another one. This one seemed to be taking the Sam Tyler approach to his arrival: looking for his office, asking for his 'iPhone' - whatever the heck that was. Alex Drake's arrival had been rather less dramatic - at least until they'd found out who she was.

Gene sighed. Thirty years after joining the police, and his purpose was still the same; something he believed in, something he had never forgotten. He may have forgotten the mechanics of the world he worked in, but, despite framing criminals in the past, he had never sought personal gain, only a safer world. He knew Tyler had made him honest; what effect Drake had had on him was yet to be seen.

He did not doubt that one day someone would ask him about one or the other of the past members of the team, just has Alex had asked about Sam Tyler. His answer would be the same as he'd first given her: he was a friend, he died - or she if Alex or Shaz was in question - end of. This time, though, he was determined to remember the why; his broader purpose; his death. Perhaps this time, he would be able to answer those who, like Alex, would keep digging and eventually find the truth by other means, honestly, instead of meeting their persistent inquiries with evasion and risking others.

He hoped.

He sighed again. Time to start over. He stood and opened his office door. "A word in your shell-like, pal," he said firmly, interrupting the confused man's tirade. Silence fell for a moment.

"Who the hell are you?" the stranger demanded once the shock of hearing a new voice wore off slightly.

"Gene Hunt," Gene replied sharply. "Your D.C.I.."

If he had been in the mood to laugh at others' discomfort, Gene might have at least grinned at the look of sheer confusion and horror that crossed the younger man's face. Since he wasn't, he didn't, resorting, instead to insults: "Blimey, am I going to spend my life surrounded by fish?" He didn't wait for a response, gesturing instead to his open office door. "It would be beneficial if you could keep your mouth closed for more than a second. This is not a bloody fish pond; if you feel so far out of the water, I'm sure the aquarium will find space for another mindless carp."

That seemed to get a reaction. "Th-th-the aquarium?" stuttered the man

"Yes," Gene snapped, "that is what I said. Now, if you don't mind, it's time to get to work."

"I was at the aquarium..." the younger man started, trailing off when Gene glared at him.

"Name?"

"Wha'?" the confused look only deepened.

"Your name," Gene said with clearly forced patience.

"Frederick Maddock, Detective Chief Inspector Frederick Maddock."

"More like Fried Haddock," Gene muttered. "Not any more my friend," he said grimly, taking in the expectant look in Maddock's darting dark brown eyes. He flicked through the pile of papers that had appeared on his desk overnight. "You're D.I. here, and have a hell of a lot to live up to. My last three may have been bloody irritating, but two of them at least were also bloody good."

Frederick swallowed nervously, clearly discomforted by Gene's abrupt manner. His glance rested uncertainly on the glass of whisky, and then on his watch.

"What?" Gene demanded.

"You really shouldn't be drinking on the job, never mind at eight o'clock in the morning," the younger man ventured. "Your effectiveness will be diminished and your liver will be pickled."

"What I do, how I run this station is no concern of yours, sonny. Your job is to catch scum - so is mine. My methods are effective; do your job and learn to keep your nose out of my business and we should get along just fine." As if to underline his point, Gene reached for his glass and knocked back the contents. He let silence descend, and when no further opinion was forthcoming, broke it. "Get started. You can have Ray's desk. Just be careful, he could be a crafty bugger and we wouldn't want you to get stung."

Frederick grimaced at the bad pun, clearly this strange, abrasive, rude, whisky drinking man who imagined himself D.C.I. was one who could keep a joke running until it had worn itself thin.

"Indeed I can, so thin, indeed, that even a prossie might have second thoughts about its suitability for wearing in company," Gene retorted and Frederick blushed, realising that he'd muttered at least the latter part of the thought out loud. "Now mush," Gene commanded, gesturing to the door. "The rest of the team should be turning up in the next day or two, and I need to see whether they've deigned to give me anyone who might possibly useful as anything other than fish and chips."

Frederick, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, scarpered. A couple of tentative questions to two D.C.s who introduced themselves laconically as Terry and Bammo and he found himself facing what had been Ray's desk. It was a horror: unfinished paperwork; dog-eared magazines of dubious decency; several ashtrays' worth of cigarette butts, only some in actual ashtrays. Fortunately nothing more discomforting - despite Hunt's suggestion. The desk was not booby-trapped, and the six-pack of beer in the bottom drawer did not arouse such distaste as Hunt's whisky swigging.


	2. Waiting

"Everything's significant," Alex Drake murmured, looking up from her drink at her friends sitting around the table in the saloon bar of The Railway Arms.

"Eh?" Ray who was sitting next to her had been surprised by even the small comment from the unusually quiet ex-D.I.. "What did you say, Alex?"

"Everything is significant," Alex repeated more firmly, shooting a glance at Sam Tyler, the only other of the group who had lived through 1998.

"Good Friday?" Sam guessed with a frown.

"Yeah," Alex sighed. It was probably a vain hope, she reflected. Gene Hunt would not stop until he absolutely had to - he would be needed until the everyday human had learnt to treat everyone else decently and accept that their part of the orange was, necessarily, modest. That day would never come; and Gene Hunt would contribute to fighting lawlessness until he was forced to stop; she more than half-expected that he would die on the job, though whether from a bullet or a heart attack she would not venture to guess.

They'd not aged; life in the pub was timeless. New faces brought news of the outside, their appearance felt regular, though the intervals were not. Most often they came one their own, occasionally a group of two or three would turn up. Not all had worked with Gene Hunt in London, though his name was well known and soon became familiar to most. They greeted old acquaintances and met new ones, relaxing with the satisfaction of a duty well done. The pub was the social centre of the world, but beyond the beer garden was an entire country: towns and villages; different styles in different directions. There was plenty of non-police work to do and the occasional curious mystery - nothing too dramatic - to keep those who were not inclined to lay back completed happy. It was a place of quiet contentment, even in the absence of friends and family.

Sam was the self-appointed spokesperson for the group; he'd been in the pub for longest of them all and had rather more manners and self-possession than the others: Gene may have called him 'stroppy-bollocks' on occasion, but Alex's 'bossy-knickers' was unarguably apt.

The first time she had, in Sam's absence, quizzed a new arrival, she'd gone about it so forcefully, so persistently, the poor man had barely been able to do more than stammer out that Gene Hunt was still at Fenchurch East and his driving bordering on insane. Alex had sulked for a full week - or what felt like a full week - before Ray had worked out what the matter was. A quiet word with Sam, a week or so where Sam and Annie were conspicuously absent from what their regular gatherings, and Alex's thirst for news could be satisfied - and the poor ex-D.C. introduced to Alex without trembling.

After that, Alex kept away from the new arrivals until Sam and Annie had had a good gossip or Ray had, in his blunt way prepared them for the barrage of questions that Alex would ask. It amused Alex sometimes, to think that Ray was better at dealing with slightly over-awed coppers than she was, but he was slowly letting go of much of his posturing, and his latent decency manifesting as a rough courtesy - even with the female coppers. It had taken a fair amount of coaching, and even now, Ray put his foot in his mouth more often than Chris ever had, but it had been worth it. The thought made Alex smile as she took a sip of wine.

"So, what's so special about Good Friday 1998?" Ray demanded, pulling Alex back to the present.

"You know how the IRA has been the continued subject of complaint since you came here?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, Paddy being stroppy," Ray said.

"If you say so," Sam had given up trying to reform Ray's expression on some subjects, but was glad that different countries did seem to have different pubs. "Anyway," he continued, "The Good Friday Agreement of 1998 was the treaty that led to a permanent ceasefire."

"But that other one didn't work," Chris objected, "How do you know this one does."

"Well," Sam looked at Alex, who obliged him and took up the narrative.

"It lasts at least twenty years," Alex said softly. "I was shot in 2008. There were some bombings in London a few years before, but they weren't the IRA."

"Makes sense," Ray said, accustomed by now to the fact that his closest friends knew a good amount of what he would have experienced had he not decided to hang himself.

Alex shrugged.

"So what do you reckon this means?" asked Shaz as the silence stretched.

"I'm not sure," Alex admitted, frowning as she tried to remember events that hadn't happened yet and that she hadn't paid too much attention to at the time as she attempted to balance motherhood with her career. "There's still plenty of criminal activity, but the next few years are fairly quiet." She shot a pleading look at Sam, not wanting to speculate too much, lest the faint hope that bubbled in her chest become uncontrolled.

"He'd be what, a year or so from retirement now," Annie interjected thoughtfully.

"I wonder..." Sam murmured, pulling out what looked like a pocket watch, but was in fact a calendar for the entire of the twentieth century. He turned the dials, muttering to himself: "Fifty three, June. What date was the coronation?" he asked aloud.

"The second," Ray replied promptly. "It was a Tuesday; we got the day off school, made for a weird week."

"Tuesday the second of June, hmm..." Sam continued to fiddle with the calendar, turning the year dial and making a note on a scrap of paper every so often. "Hmm..." he said again "81, that's the year Alex went back to."

"But I arrived in July," Alex protested.

"Still," Shaz said when Sam didn't respond, "it _is_ curious."

"Ah," Sam said after a little more fiddling. Annie peered over his shoulder and let out a drawn out 'oh' of understanding.

Chris looked from Sam's other side: "But that means..." he glanced uncertainly at Sam.

"Exactly," Sam said with a smile. "Forty-five years; I think he would not be entirely unappreciative of the symmetry."

"Would someone please explain what you're going on about?" Shaz demanded.

"Yes, please do share your insights into this magical world of ours," Ray added in a completely different, but no less impatient tone.

Alex remained silent, but did look expectantly at Sam sitting across from her.

Sam took a breath and consulted the list of numbers he'd noted down. "I don't want to be too definite about this, but this year the second of June falls on a Tuesday."

"And?" Ray asked.

"The guv was shot on Tuesday the second of June, 1953," Alex explained softly. "That's when he came to the world between worlds. He can take early retirement; there's no shame in that. If there's someone whom he can trust to see coppers safely to the pub door, he won't need to stay."

"You mean he's coming here?" Chris asked, his eyes lighting with suppressed hope.

"He's the guv," Annie said with a helpless shrug, "who knows what he'll do."

"But as Alex is so fond of saying, everything is significant. That the second of June is a Tuesday in both 1998 and 1953, is suggestive. And I think the guv would prefer to leave on his terms than be told to pack up, don't you?" Silence greeted Sam's last statement as they each digested the possibility that the missing member of their group would finally be joining them.

"We can't assume anything though," Alex reminded them softly after a while.

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't be ready," Ray countered. "You most of all," he added quietly, that Alex was putting effort into sounding calm apparent even to him, though Chris still seemed oblivious.

"Time for what passes for a shopping spree, then, Ma'am," Shaz suggested, but Alex shook her head in mute objection; she didn't want to get her hopes up, and had done all the clothes shopping she needed to do.

"Speak for yourself," Ray grumbled - he would have to go shopping against losing a wager.

"We've time, though, haven't we?" Chris asked.

"Yeah," answered Annie, "A couple of months, but you know how time works in here, we can't hang around."


	3. A pub door

"This is it girls," Gene called out, closing the office door softly behind him. "I know you're in the middle of a case, and can't join me at the boozer for a farewell pint, so I'll just say my piece and get going." He surveyed his domain of the past seventeen years for the last time.

"It's not like it's a surprise that you won't be seeing me in the morning," he continued once the members of C.I.D. had stopped their work and turned to face him. "I'm leaving you lot to work it out on your own. You've a few brain cells between you. And a couple of you have shown the occasional hint of good coppers' nous - though that may simply be wishful thinking on my part." He paused, thinking of what he wanted to say: it wouldn't do to be too complementary, even now. "I often doubt it, but I think you'll survive without me to do everything short of tucking in your shirts" (a glare at the oldest D.C. whose shirts seemed to refuse to stay tucked in) "and wiping your noses" (a disdainful glance at his current D.I. who between colds and hay-fever never seemed to stop sniffling). "You won't drink enough, that's for sure." He took a breath and raised his hip-flask: "So here's to you all, and the best of luck too."

Mugs of cold tea and coffee were raised and he took a sip of his favourite single malt. He strolled through the crowded room, shaking hands with the various detectives and giving last words of advice. They were a good bunch, with plenty of promise. He just hoped they would be OK.

He strolled down through the quiet of the station, breathing in the smell for the last time. "Goodbye, Skip," he said to the desk sergeant, putting his car keys down on the desk. "Try to keep them from burning the place down."

"Will do, Guv," he said, raising a hand in farewell when Gene turned one last time as the doors swung closed behind him.

Gene walked out into the summer evening. At least it wasn't raining. He started walking slowly through the London streets. Quick footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of his expected companion. "Glad you could join me," he said, without looking round.

"Couldn't not," came the slightly breathless reply in a strong cockney accent. "Took a bit of doing, to be honest, it's madness."

"It's a bad case, I feel I'm abandoning you," Gene said. Delaying his departure had crossed his mind more than once over the last few days. Even now, deliberately overdressed for a night at down the pub, he wasn't convinced he'd made the right choice.

"We'll be fine. Honestly, Guv, we'll be fine. Have a little faith in us. We know our new D.C.I. too, know that he'll do right by us."

They walked in comfortable silence; Big Ben chimed seven, the bells clear across the river. Gene sighed, they'd wandered around without much purpose for a while, now it was time to turn their steps towards a definite destination.

"The Railway Arms," Gene said, gesturing at the pub in front of them. It was incongruous, out of place among the old warehouses abutting new high-rise blocks. "The real pub's in Manchester, Nelson's landlord there too." The door opened, and the quiet hum of distant traffic through the still evening was disturbed by music from the pub. Nelson, dreadlocked and relaxed as always, stepped out onto the street.

"Welcome, mon brave," he said, "and hello."

"Nelson, this is Jenny. Jenny, Nelson," Gene said, gesturing to suit the words.

"My pleasure," Nelson replied to Jenny's crisp 'pleased to meet you'. "I guess Mr. Hunt has told you where I can be found if necessary."

"Yes."

"Only in an absolute emergency, mind." Nelson grinned, but sobered quickly at the sound or raised voices and running steps. "Won't be a minute," he said, turning back into the pub.

Gene listened carefully for a few seconds, but could not make out more than Nelson's voice saying something about rules being meant to be bent. He turned to the young DC at his side.

"Well, Jenny, this is it. There's nothing more I can do but wish you luck. Try to remember and be the best you can be." He winced slightly at a sharp crack of sound from the pub. "If you don't mind, it might be as well if you go before Nelson steps back out. If my suspicions are correct, I'd rather not invite a fist to the jaw; I'm a bit old to enjoy getting punched when it can be avoided."

"Yes, Guv."

"That's Gene to you," he said with a soft laugh.

They shook hands. Gene was tempted to hug the young woman, but settled for a handshake and a nod of understanding. He watched Jenny's departing back for a moment before turning to face the pub again.

The door opened, Nelson stepped through, and Gene dropped his gaze to the ground, uncertain.

"Rules can be bent, my dear," Nelson was saying softly, holding the door open for someone else to step through. "For a short while at least."

Three footsteps, the pub door swinging closed.

"Gene?" His name spoken so tentatively.

Gene looked up slowly: white boots, tight jeans, loose blue blouse, straight brown hair in a simple bob. "Alex," he said softly. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"You remember?"

"Course I do, you dozy mare. Would hardly have walked all those coppers to the pub door if I hadn't."

"You never mentioned me. Everyone was saying you'd forgotten." Her voice wobbled.

"Don't cry, Bolls, that's an order," Gene told her, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "I didn't talk about Sam, but I remembered him just fine. How was I going to forget you?"

Alex sniffed and Gene saw Nelson nod slightly, hand reaching for the pub door.

"C'm' 'ere Bolls," he said, holding out a hand and taking a few slow steps forwards. "Oof," he huffed, when Alex launched herself at him. He staggered back a few steps, off-balance. Alex clung tight to the lapels of Gene's coat, face buried against his shoulder.

"Hey, I thought I told you not to cry," he chided gently, one arm loosely round her while he smoothed a few stray strands of hair out of Alex's eyes with the other hand.

"I know, I'm sorry, it's just..."

"I know, I know, I know..." Gene didn't know what to say and trailed into silence. "Nice though this is," he murmured after a moment, lips soft against Alex's forehead, "we should probably go in. Nelson won't wait for us forever."

"I know," Alex whispered back. "I just wanted a moment without everyone looking on. Needed to know how things stood."

"Yeah, well, not sure whether walking in with someone old enough to be your father is exactly your thing... You far outclass me, always have."

"Guv," Alex protested.

"Name's Gene, Bolly."

"Gene, then." Alex emphasised the name much as she had in 1981, albeit without the quotes. "Nelson said you'd lose about twenty years - well you'd still remember them - when you walk through that door. Not that I care. You're here."

"Yes, I'm here. To stay. Now, I've some things to give you before we go in." Gene reluctantly let go of Alex and she stood back slightly as he pulled a shiny epaulette number and her nameplate - D. I. Drake - out of his pockets. "I didn't forget," he said softly, passing the nameplate and then the badge to Alex. "You helped, of course. You always did." He watched her face carefully. There were many memories even in those two perfectly ordinary objects: her early days at Fenchurch East; the times they'd trusted each other and when that trust had been tested; the threats and explanations; the burden of knowledge and the pain of parting. She placed the nameplate and epaulette number in her pockets, and frowned when she saw that Gene was now holding a worn leather bound notebook.

"Here," he said, holding it out to her. "A somewhat intermittent diary. I suspect you've already met many of the characters and are well acquainted with most of the events mentioned, and many more besides. Since we've a minute, I thought I'd give it to you now."

"This is private, Gene," Alex objected. "You shouldn't be giving it to me at all."

"I want you to read it, Bolls. I need you to understand me, just as you did when we found out about 1953." He ran a hand through his greying hair. "You're a psychologist, Bolly, I'm sure you'll pick up on plenty of things I didn't write. And have tons of questions to boot," he added wryly, then sighed. "This way you'll know what was important to me at the time, not what I think is important or relevant now. I don't think I'd be brave enough now to go over some of what happened unless you already knew about it."

"Thank you, Gene."

"For what?"

"For trusting me. But you really must be certain about this."

"I'm sure. It's partly why I kept it."

"But not your main reason?"

"No. The main reason was to remember - or at least to not lose the knowledge of who I was and what I'd done."

"You're a brave man, Gene Hunt."

"Nonsense woman. I just did the job that was needed, that's all."

"Gene..." Alex protested, only for Gene to lay a soft finger on her lips.

"No need, Bolly." He smiled, expression softening as he traced her jaw before dropping his hand to his side.

"You going to kiss me or not?" Alex asked a little crossly, frown firmly in place.

"Not sure, Bolls. Should get going before Nelson starts watering down my whisky." He looked away. "Never been sure with you, Bolly." He looked up to meet Alex's eyes, their steady, happy expression taking him by surprise. Alex leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss on Gene's lips, barely more more than a chaste pressure, a confirmation and a promise, similar, yet a stark contrast to fifteen years earlier when it had been a goodbye, speaking of opportunities never taken, of necessary caution and unspoken forgiveness.

"Best not keep Nelson and the others waiting any longer," Alex said eventually, head resting comfortably against Gene's shoulder, his cheek against her hair.

"Right you are, Bollykecks." They straightened up and walked the last few steps to the pub door, shoulder to shoulder as so often before, but slowly, both reluctant to disturb the peace of the empty street.

"They're waiting for you, Gene," Alex reminded him gently when he halted with his hand on the door handle.

Gene sighed. It was time to face the music. "You'll be all right, won't you Alex?" he asked.

"Yes." She held up the notebook. "I've this to read, which should be enough to keep me occupied if it does get dull."

"Thank you." Gene took Alex's free hand and placed a hard kiss on the knuckles before squaring his shoulders to meet the coppers waiting inside, and lose about a third of his years in one step. The afterlife was going to be a bit different to what he was used to.


	4. An not too unexpected party

Alex sipped at her wine. The notebook Gene had given her was tucked in her jacket pocket with her old nameplate and Gene's epaulette number. She'd been thinking about reading it, but a shout of laughter had drawn her attention to Gene and she'd yet to look away. She had tried not to think too far beyond Gene's arrival at The Railway Arms, and that was just as well. Fifteen years was going to change a man; she wasn't going to find out how tonight. The only things that she would really be able to take away from the evening were going to be that Gene had remembered and his tiredness. The very slowness and gentleness of his actions when she'd gone out betrayed his exhaustion, but she half suspected that she only knew that because they'd been so close - sometimes.

"Erm, Alex?" A tentative voice asked at her elbow. "May I join you?"

"Of course, Carol, have a seat." Alex smiled, gesturing to the three empty chairs at her table.

"Thanks." Carol sat carefully and looked out over the pub. "I never saw him like this," Carol said after a long silence.

"Nor I," Alex murmured back.

"He's the guv," Carol remarked, smiling fondly."We'd walk through fire for him, somehow knowing that he'd already gone through hell for us, and would do so again without a second's hesitation."

"You've made them out to be quite the hero there, Carol."

"Well, he was, he is."

Alex twirled her half-empty wine glass contemplatively. "I don't know," she said softly. "He was more of a morose drunk when I knew him, but that might have been because he found it easier to sneak glances down my top if we were sitting together, talking quietly." Carol snorted in clear disapproval, but Alex had long rolled her eyes at it - in the grand scheme of things it amused her more than it bothered her, it didn't do her self-respect any harm, and she had used it to her advantage from time to time.

"No, he's a morose drunk most of the time," Sam Tyler chipped in. "Chris is the lively drunk."

"Makes me wonder whether I ever say him properly drunk," Alex raised an eyebrow at Sam in question.

"From what Chris has said, you might not have," Sam admitted. "But it certainly looks like you'll see him properly pissed tonight."

"Or I was so drunk that I can't remember," Alex said.

"Always a possibility, but unlikely, he seemed to look out for you, so it's more likely he ensured he never went too far."

"Does he forget, though, when he's had too much?" Carol asked.

"It has been known to happen," Sam said cryptically.

"What's happy drunk Gene like?" Alex asked after a minute's uncomfortable silence.

"Very loud, then flat on his back, claiming he isn't pissed," Annie said, taking the free chair next to Sam and plonking down her glass of wine and Sam's whisky. "Takes a hell of a lot though."

"Enough to drink anyone else under the table and then stop off for a pint on the way home, to use his own words," Sam said. "But he's not a violent drunk," he added after they were silent for a long few minutes. "Unless you count him taking a completely ineffectual swing at me for pointing out that he was drunk." Sam sighed. "He's definitely more dangerous sober - or more or less sober." He seemed to think for a moment before he continued: "The most violent I've known him, while pissed, involved putting a brick through the window of a guy who'd expected him to take a backhander and lie in court in order to get a GBH charge dropped. Gene had what he called a 'rare case of do the right thing' and told the truth. The guy got off though. Gene got pissed and put a brick through his window, but it wasn't hard to get him back in the car, even though he was waving his gun around. Trouble was he ended up on a murder charge and couldn't remember a thing after leaving the pub. We worked out what had happened and cleared his name. After that case I realised that no matter what Gene said, he wanted the job done, and didn't much mind by who. Morgan didn't look past a person's face, shoved Annie off to teach road safety as if she didn't have something to contribute to actually figuring out what had happened."

Alex mulled over what Sam had just told them. She'd heard mentions of the events Sam had just recounted, but never the whole story. 

"Gene wasn't bad," Annie said, "Yeah, sure, he made comments, but they didn't really have much sting to them. He was an expert at giving a backhanded complement."

It was going to be a long night, Alex suspected. Gene's tolerance for alcohol was going to be pretty high, even if more recent arrivals had rarely seen him drunk. She'd always more than half-suspected that Gene's first night completely off-duty would not consist of sitting at a corner table sharing a bottle or two of wine and sneaking glances down her top. Funnily enough, although he was on the way to getting blind drunk, the look Gene gave her when came over to pull Sam into the centre of attention, made her wonder whether Gene wasn't also of her mind. But if there was one thing she knew, it was that Gene Hunt would not disappoint old friends. She smiled slightly, held up the notebook and let him go.

She kept her place at the her table, happy with her own thoughts and chatting with friends and acquaintances as they dropped by. Ray had disappeared for a while soon after Gene's arrival, where his greeting: "Hello you horrible lot. The equivalent of the North Sea in whisky for me, and good wine for Lady Bolls here," had told him he had been ill-advised to bet against her.

"Raymondo," Gene's voice suddenly boomed out over the noise, "What on Earth do you call that?" The attention of most of the room turned to the unfortunate Ray, and many coppers risked his wrath by openly laughing. "Oi, shut it," Gene shouted over the noise. "I want to hear what this big girl's got to say for himself." Alex didn't need to stand up to know what had caused Gene's attention, but she stood anyway and had to hold her hand to her mouth to stop herself from joining in the laughter. Gene's look of outrage and Ray's look of abject terror were funnier, to her, than Ray in a flowery shirt, a tie in eye-watering pink and a tight purple velvet jacket. The contrast to Gene in black tie, even if the bow tie was not tied, was enough to send most of the coppers into giggles, even without any presentiment of how this could go.

"What was that?" Gene said loudly. Ray muttered something in reply. It was clearly loud enough for Gene to hear since he related it to the entire room. "He lost a bet. Now what bet would that be, Raymondo."

Ray looked at his feet and said something, of which the only word Alex caught was 'Guv'.

"And why would you believe that I'd forget?" Gene asked, frowning.

"Well you'd forgotten till Keats reminded you," Ray's reply was audible this time in the silence that pervaded the pub.

"I'd forgotten about the nature of where we were, not the coppers I'd worked with," Gene said evenly. "Why were you so sure I'd forgotten, and who were you so foolish to bet against?"

"Practically everyone we asked said you almost never mentioned us, any of us, not even Drake."

"Hmm... Now, Raymondo, did you bet against D.I. Drake specifically or were others involved in this?" Gene inquired mildly. "Since you're the only one who's in fancy dress, I assume you're the only one on the losing side."

"Why is that important?" Ray asked, his tone petulant.

"Because I'd like to know who I'm to hold responsible for your get up - and whether there is any one I can shout at without risking a fist in the face," Gene said levelly, though he tapped his foot impatiently when Ray didn't answer immediately. "Well, Ray?"

"Just D.I. Drake," he admitted eventually, not daring to meet Gene's eyes.

"Well done, Raymondo. You're as much of an idiot as you ever were. Even Chris had enough sense to steer clear, and he's not always known for his good sense."

"That would be Shaz's doing," Chris put in, earning himself an elbow in the ribs and a hissed instruction to keep quiet from Shaz beside him.

"Well, I guess the only thing to do this evening is to try to not look at you." Gene downed the last of his pint and dismissed Ray with a friendly thump on the shoulder that almost threw him in to Sam.

The night wore away. Gene was certainly boisterous. Alex thought about starting to read the notebook Gene had given her, but the noise, most of which came from wherever Gene happened to be, his voice coming clear through the din, distracted here. She was not going to guess what he'd written, but was sure he'd written it for her. She wanted to be able to focus when she read it for the first time.

"Bloody hell," she said to Annie as it neared midnight. "How much has he had?"

"No idea," Annie replied. The pub was quieter now, only a dozen or so coppers left, most of whom had been his D.I. at some point.

"How is he still standing?" Carol asked, leaning against the wall next to Alex.

"Beats me," Alex said. "He's going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow."

"If i remember him getting pissed in Manchester, he won't be standing much longer," Annie remarked. "Best go," she said after a moment, catching sight of Sam waving at her.

"Well it certainly makes me glad I don't drink," Carol remarked dryly. "I was his D.I. for three and a half years and never saw him drunker than he was an hour and a half ago."

"I've never seen him this drunk either," Alex admitted. "Hair of the dog does work wonder though," she added, knowing that the concept completely baffled the other D.I.. She smiled brightly. "You go," she told Carol, "I'll see you soon."

Carol left, and Alex watched, amused, as Sam and Nelson slowly shepherded Gene so he was sitting on the bench under the TV. There really was no other way to describe it, Even drunk as a lord, Gene would still make it harder for them if he thought they were pulling him about. He sat there, saying the occasional, almost unintelligible sentence and taking a drink from the remains of the pint in his hand. No matter how wobbly he was otherwise, he hadn't spilt a drop, his white shirt still pristine.

Alex sat quietly in her corner. She was tired and hoped that Gene would lapse into unconsciousness soon - she wanted some sleep. Chris and Shaz joined her, dropping a couple of pillows and blankets into one chair and settling themselves in the others.

"He's still upright," Chris said softly, admiration and disbelief in his tone.

"Just."

"I don't see how anyone can drink so much without being sick," Shaz whispered, then yawned.

"Go, get some sleep," Alex said. "Thank you for these," she added, gesturing to the pile of bedding.

"No worries, Ma'am," Chris replied easily. "We'll see you around." He offered Shaz his arm and they left quietly. Alex sipped at her glass of water, it was nearing one o'clock and she didn't want a too much of a headache if she could do something about it.

Alex raised an eyebrow at Nelson who was pulling yet another pint for Gene. He shook his head sadly and gave a resigned shrug. Even if Gene was unlikely to fight them, never mind being in no condition to argue coherently, it would be far easier if he did just keel over.

"Whe' Bol'y?' Gene asked as Nelson approached, a part pint of beer in one hand and closer to a full pint of water in the other. Nelson passed the glass of water to Gene.

"That's my cue," Alex murmured to herself. She stood, downed the last of her wine and wandered slowly over to where Sam was sat in a chair next to Gene.

"Bolly?" Gene slurred, waving a hand towards her as she approached.

"I'm here, Gene," she said softly, catching his flailing hand and nodding to Sam who stood and let Alex take his seat.

"Di'n' min t' ge' th' drun'."

"What did you expect?" She smoothed Gene's lapels with her free hand. Imposing in his usual suit and tie, the formality of black tie - white shirt, waistcoat and dinner jacket - added a layer of restraint that contrasted with the slightly boyish look from the untied bowtie.

"M' sense."

Alex smiled fondly - for once Gene had underestimated off-duty coppers. Either that or things really had changed in C.I.D.. "Best you called it a night and got your head down," she told him gently, relieving him of his half-drunk glass of water.

"D'n' g'." Gene wobbled and Alex shot Nelson a pleading look as she took hold of one shoulder to steady him.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," she said firmly.

"G'," Gene closed his eyes and Alex held him steady until could come and help her manoeuvre Gene's dead wright down onto the settle.

Sam and Annie had brought over the pillows and blankets, Shaz and Chris had fetched earlier. Sam slipped a pillow under Gene's head while Annie spread a blanket over him.

"I guess I'll have to spend the night sitting on the floor," Alex said, resigned, when tentative attempts to free her hand only resulted in Gene holding tighter. Nelson placed the other pillow on the floor and she sank down onto it.

"You be good now?" Nelson asked as he tucked the second blanket round Alex.

"Yes, thank you, Nelson."

"I'll leave a light on," he said softly and made his quiet way across the empty pub to where Sam and Annie stood by the door.

Alex dug the notebook and epaulette number out of her pocket. She stared at the silver badge for a few minutes before returning it to its place. She contemplated finally making a start on whatever Gene had written, but exhaustion won and she leant her head back against the settle and dozed, one hand on the notebook, the other tight in Gene's.


	5. Not quite dawn

Gene woke to the pale pre-dawn light filtering through the pub windows, mouth dry.

"Time's it?" he murmured blearily, carefully cracking open an eye to the dim room.

He stretched carefully, still tipsy. He had half a chance to dull the hangover, but needed a slash first. Disentangling his hand from Alex's, he cautiously sat up and slowly made his way across the pub to the toilets, thankful for the lone light behind the bar. When he returned, Nelson had appeared and was halfway through filling a glass with water.

"That for me?" Gene asked quietly, glancing warily at the still-sleeping Alex.

"Yes," Nelson said. "Just let her sleep," he added, tilting his head in Alex's direction.

"Seems wrong, somehow," Gene murmured after downing half the pint of water. "Her sleeping on the floor like that."

"There's an armchair in the saloon bar that she's fallen asleep in often enough," Nelson told him.

"Comfy?"

"Comfortable enough."

"Can't be worse than the floor. Cheers." Gene downed most of the rest of the water and stretched slightly. He was still tipsy and waking Alex if he stumbled was something he'd much rather avoid. She looked well, but he'd seen an underlying tension and a tiredness that had been confirmed by her decision to spend the entire evening sat in the corner. Bolly at a party usually made more of an effort. He made a note to ask her about it.

"Oof." Lifting Alex from the floor made him truly thankful for whatever deity was responsible for the way The Railway Arms worked. If he hadn't lost twenty odd years, the chances of dropping Alex would have been too high for comfort. Unconscious, Alex seemed frail, not the feisty, fearsome firecracker that she was. It made him want to protect her - and then he'd hate himself for failing to do so when she went off on her own or he got so mad at her - with her - that he'd driven her away. He deposited her in the chair Nelson indicated and tucked the blanket around her. It seemed Nelson was telling the truth: Alex seemed to recognise the chair and shifted slightly before relaxing. He smoothed the hair back from her face and dropped a kiss on her temple before straightening up.

"Cheers, Nelson," he said, taking his own blanket from the landlord and settling himself in the armchair next to Alex's.


	6. Morning

"Gene. Gene!" Alex's voice, tinged with panic, brought Gene awake with a jolt.

"I'm here, Alex," he said, taking hold of the hand closest to him.

"I feared last night was nothing more than a dream," Alex explained after a few deep breaths.

"My head disagrees with you there," Gene told her, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. "I haven't had a hangover like this for a decade, maybe more."

"Not sure I ever saw you as drunk as you were last night," Alex remarked mildly.

"I'm not entirely sure I've ever been that drunk before," Gene admitted wryly. "My head's telling me that I went more than a little beyond sense. The last thing I remember was asking Sam about the bet you and Raymondo had. Must have been at about eleven."

"Well you finally passed out shortly before one," Alex told him. Gene winced, no wonder his head was hurting.

"Woke up about five or so. Brought you in here."

"Thank you." Alex said. She shot him a small smile, but Gene's eyes were still closed so her curious look went unnoticed. "How did you know?"

"Nelson. Gods, Bolly, I feel as rough as a badger's back passage."

"Certainly sounds unpleasant," Alex agreed. "I'll see whether I can't find something to eat," she added after a minute's quiet.

Gene grunted, but tightened his hold on Alex's hand when she stood.

"It's OK, Gene," she said softly, running a gently hand through his hair, now its old blonde. "I'm not going far, but you'll feel better for something to eat."

Gene reluctantly let Alex free herself and lapsed into a light doze. Some time later he heard murmurs at the door to the saloon bar. It sounded like Sam, Annie and Alex, but he couldn't bring himself to either open his eyes or try too hard to decipher what they were saying. The room brightened a bit and he winced, scrunching up his already closed eyes. Footsteps and a slight clattering as if someone had placed a tray on a nearby table warned him that he would soon be expected to look tolerably lively. He cautiously opened his eyes.

"Toast," Alex said gently, her soft voice balm to his pounding head.

"Should help settle your stomach," added another soft voice.

"Annie," Gene sighed. He obediently took the plate held out to him. "You're not joining me?" he asked after a few bites.

"When Sam brings the rest," Annie said with an easy smile.

"We weren't certain what you'd want to wash it down with," Alex said, once Gene was on to his second slice. "We've milk, orange juice or water."

"Or hair of the dog," Sam said, handing Gene one of his hip-flasks and placing a plate stacked high with toast on the table. He passed out plates and cutlery from the tray in his hands and added several jars of jam and marmalade to the table.

"Cheers, Sam." Gene took a good swig of whisky, then offered the flask round, not offended to be met with a series of denials.

"Nelson'll be along with the tea in a bit," Sam said, seemingly in answer to a silent question from Annie.

"Just so long as he remembers the sugar," Gene said. "Don't look at me like that, Alex," he added, catching her eye. "Sweet tea is barely a vice."

"Yes, guv," Alex said meekly.

"Told you before, Bolly, name's Gene. Even Chris got that last night. Though why he still calls you and Sam Boss and Ma'am beats me."

"He's stopped calling me Boss at least. I guess having both of us around helped," Alex remarked, not thinking it worthwhile to mention that they had coached Chris for weeks to get him to refer to Gene by his name, and she had a strong suspicion that Chris would soon revert to 'guv'.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Nelson brought a huge pot of tea and joined them for a cup, and they chatted quietly on indifferent matters: mostly of the mutual acquaintances that they could now claim, although Gene didn't contribute much. He was grateful that his participation was not really needed, and found himself vaguely amused at the possibility that the conversation was partly staged for his benefit as a means of letting him know who they knew and how well. Nelson took their plates when it was clear that no one wanted more to eat. After bringing a new pot of tea, he left them to themselves, citing an interrupted night's sleep.

"So, tell me, Bolly, what exactly was this bet with Raymondo about me forgetting? Neither he nor Gladys here did much to explain it when I asked."

Alex shot a glance at Sam who shook his head while Annie held up her hands in denial. They weren't going to be any help, even if they knew almost as much as she did about it.

"You never mentioned me. Most of your D.I.s said you would sometimes mention Sam or Ray or Chris in passing. Occasionally even Annie or Shaz. You never talked about them much, and mentioned them less and less as time went by. But you never once referred to me." Alex took a deep breath, it had been hard having to trust that Gene was being close-mouthed and not forgetful. Even now, knowing the latter had been the case, keeping her voice steady took effort. "I was certain you wouldn't forget me, but even Shaz had her doubts. Anyway, Ray was so adamant that you'd forgotten he was determined to bet on it. His forfeit was as you saw."

"Yeah," Gene agreed, "That was definitely not his style. Made my eyes water. I avoided looking at him after a bit, to be honest. Didn't need a headache before the inevitable hangover."

"I think the caution may have been mutual," Alex remarked: Ray had disappeared off remarkably early for him.

"What would have been your forfeit if I had forgotten?" Gene inquired after a long moment.

"Prossie get up. Eighties style," Alex said quietly, looking determinedly into her tea cup.

"Would almost have been worth it," Gene said with a laugh. "I said _almost_ , mind," he hurried to reiterate at Alex's glare. "Good though you look dressed as a prossie, I prefer you in more sensible clothes or something truly classy if I'm honest, Bolls." He raised an eyebrow. "I take it you haven't read it yet."

"No, I haven't." Alex's voice was soft as she tried to ignore the curious looks Sam and Annie were sending her way.

"You two keep out of it," Gene told them firmly, reading Alex's discomfort. "That last is between me and Lady B."

"Lips are sealed," Sam said and Annie nodded in agreement.

Silence fell for a few minutes, broken by Alex yawning hugely.

"Sorry," she said, "I can't remember the last time I stayed up until after midnight." She glared at Gene, forestalling any apology he might be inclined to make on his own account. "Don't you start," she told him, "if I hadn't wanted to stay, I would have headed home when it became clear you were beyond ordinarily drunk."

"Good to know," Gene muttered. "On the topic of home, does anyone have any idea where I put up? I think that even in my version of heaven, I'd have my own place."

"Check your jacket pockets?" Annie suggested. "Nelson usually gives new arrivals a key once they've got through the greetings, but you didn't really settle until you were too drunk to remember," she explained when Gene looked bemused.

Gene fumbled in his pockets, eventually digging out a set of keys with a plastic tag. "Ah, 2 Ramsdon Terrace," he said, reading the address off the tag.

"Just across from Sam and Annie," Alex told him. "Shaz and Chris are up at number 73."

"Great," Gene sounded less than enthusiastic, and Sam and Annie shared a worried glance.

"I thought you'd be happier about it," Alex said, "being so close to them."

"How far is it from here?" Gene asked after a short, slightly uncomfortable silence.

"About twenty minutes' walk," Annie told him. "We're on the street before yours; Sam once ran here in eight minutes, I can't remember why now, but it must have been important at the time."

"Could be worse then. Shall we head over?"

They rose from their seats and gathered together their things. In the bustle of tidying up their cups and putting them on the bar for Nelson, Annie had a quiet word with Alex.

"How are you?" she asked softly.

"I'm OK, I think," Alex murmured back. "It's going to take a while to get used to him being here."

"Yes," Annie agreed. Gene's imperious question of whether they were coming or not prevented them from saying more.

The morning was fine, blue skies and a few white clouds. A gentle breeze made a light coat advisable, and Gene let the cool air further calm his hangover. The conversation as they walked was light, mostly about practicalities, highlighting useful landmarks and helping Gene get the geography of the area. They pointed out where Alex's flat was, on the second storey above a basement Italian restaurant.

Sam and Annie said farewell and turned up their road; Alex walked with Gene to his front door.

"Sam and Annie have invited us round for dinner tonight," she said as they stood outside the door to the end of terrace house that was Gene's. It was set back slightly from the road, a small grassy front garden with a paved path to the door a contrast to the direct step onto the street of his similar house in Manchester. The blue door was the same colour though.

"Humph. I'll need clean clothes, this is fine for a party, but I'd be a bit overdressed for dinner at a friend's." Gene dug in his pockets for his new keys and unlocked the door.

"Unless, for some reason, you're an exception to the rule, there will be some in your wardrobe," Alex told him.

"Will you come in?" Gene asked.

Alex hesitated. She had no idea what Gene's home would look like - he'd never really existed outside of work - and was concerned that she would be intruding.

"Please?" Gene said, when Alex made no move. "There are a few things I want to say before I put them off for so long that they become impossible to say."

"OK." Alex stepped into the hallway and closed the door gently behind her, following Gene on his exploration of his new abode. They wound up in the kitchen, and Gene gestured for her to take a seat at the table. She hung her jacket over the back of a chair and dropped into the one next to it, placing the diary on the table beside her. He joined her a minute or so later, having ascertained that he could make tea, and that Alex didn't fancy a cuppa. He placed a glass of water in front of each of them anyway.

"So why now?" Alex asked, breaking the quiet, and asking a question of her own.

"Why what now?" Gene asked.

"Why come here now?" Alex clarified. "We considered it, but couldn't imagine that you would be willing to stop before you absolutely had to. Even with the symmetry of the dates. That's partly why I was in ordinary clothes last night." She didn't say that most of her reasoning had simply been that she didn't want to allow herself to form any expectations or hopes. Pretending that it was just an ordinary Tuesday night at The Railway Arms was protecting herself against disappointment. Of course, it hadn't been an ordinary Tuesday night, even before Gene had arrived, it had been far, far too busy.

"It was time," Gene said simply. "I'd just got used to doing things more or less by the book and they were talking of promoting me to superintendent if I didn't retire in short order. I didn't really care for the prospect if I'm honest."

"No, I can't imagine you did," Alex agreed. "No team to shout at, no suspects to beat, or witnesses to intimidate."

"Haven't beaten a suspect in a good few years, Bolly, at least not properly. Came close often enough," he admitted, seeing Alex's look of disbelief, "and I can't say that my fists still didn't occasionally come closer to a suspect's face than you or Sam would think entirely proper, but nothing like when you knew me."

"And I knew you after Sam had spent, what, seven years, tempering you," Alex said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, the first couple of years in London were rough, though, kinda countered Sam's influence..." Gene smiled ruefully at the recollection. "Keats poking around and Litton's visit brought out the worst in me."

"Yeah," Alex agreed sadly "Those months were tough for us all. The anger was always so close to the surface." She desisted from adding that they had also brought out the best in him: Gene was well aware of his real nature, but, as she well knew, guarded it fiercely, preferring to be known only through his 'armed bastard' policeman's persona.

"Yeah, Sam leaving wasn't easy, never mind everything else that had happened before then." Gene leant back and looked across at Alex beside him. "A new P.C. turned up a few years ago," he said after a moment. "Killed on the beat, but remembered everything, just like I guess I did in 1953. I waited around for her to make D.C., explaining what I could about the way the world worked."

"She?" Alex asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Gene smiled ruefully. "Smart kid, quiet like though, a bit more like Annie or Shaz than you."

"I guess she'll grow into it," Alex remarked sardonically. "You sure grew up from the snotty kid who needed feeding up."

"No need for that, Bolly," Gene shot back. "Sam was right, you know, I was an overweight, nicotine-stained, borderline alcoholic."

"Nothing new there," Alex agreed mildly. The sheer amount of alcohol Gene had managed to consume the previous night before he'd passed out indicated a more than irregular social acquaintance with the bottle.

"Nah, I suppose not," Gene admitted the hit with a small smile. "Could've been worse though." He trailed off for a minute. "The company was wrong for getting sloshed with. Turning up drunk at your door was no longer an option."

"You never really got close to a team again, did you?" Alex asked softly, remembering how so many of those who had arrived after her seemed only to have seen the professional side of their guv.

"It wasn't the same," Gene admitted, the corners of his mouth curled down in dissatisfaction. "After a few weeks of drinking myself into a stupor most nights I cocked up on a case. Brought me to my senses pretty quick, I can tell you. Your replacement - well I gave him Ray's desk, kept yours empty until there was no where else to put people - seemed to never cease lecturing me about what I was doing to my arteries, lungs and liver. Gave me another reason to cut back, even made a point of getting some exercise other than chasing criminals. Not much though, but enough. I wasn't going to die on the job a second time."

"Exercise?" Alex banished the thought of Gene at the gym or jogging as so far out of character to be as close to impossible as possible for someone so full of contradictions as D.C.I. Gene Hunt.

"Not much, mostly a quick walk now and again. And the stairs." Gene shrugged, unwilling to admit exactly how many miles he'd walked, albeit piecewise, in an average week. "I didn't know I'd lose twenty years when I came here, didn't really fancy turning up looking like Harry Woolf. Not if you were going to look as you always had." Alex shook her head, amused at Gene's vanity - and insecurities. "You know it would be a whole lot easier if you read the notebook I gave you yesterday, that way we'll be more or less on the same page," Gene told her grumpily.

"I once told you why I stuck with you," she said softly, looking across the wooden table to meet his eyes. "It's because you're Gene Hunt, you're our guv. You make us feel safe. Anything else is just window dressing."

"You also told me that I would never know whether your bra opened at the front or the back," Gene countered.

"Yeah, well we both know how that worked out." Alex twisted her hands together, uncomfortable with the weight of the double sided nature of her retort, and hoping Gene would separate her intent from events that she had had no real control over. "I'm sorry I ran out on you that evening," she said after an awkward pause.

"Me too, Bolls, me too." Gene sighed. "Alex, there's an elephant in the room," he said after another long silence. "Actually, there's probably a whole herd."

"Pink, white or grey?"

"Grey, I'd imagine. Though considering that this concerns you, the presence of a ridiculous red and white bow on at least one could be considered appropriate."

Alex snorted at the image, but Gene was clearly being serious. "How so?" she asked, stifling her giggles.

Gene ran a distracted hand through his hair. "You, Bolly," he said, face set. "Red and white. When we first met and that night at Luigi's."

"Are those events also related to the elephant's presence?"

"I suppose so." Gene shifted uncomfortably, looking at the glass in his hands. "Why did you kiss me goodbye?" he asked suddenly, looking at her intently.

"Because there was no time for me to even think of what I wanted to say, let alone say it," Alex said quietly. "You've changed yourself since then, makes me wonder whether I still know you," she admitted after another long silence. The Gene Hunt who'd got drunk the previous evening had been the showman Gene; their guv. The one sitting in front of her with a hangover was an unknown, despite the accounts she'd had over the years, and the number of times they'd sat across from or beside each other having similarly serious conversations.

"You're almost making it sound like a good thing that we crossed so few lines back when we were working together," Gene remarked. In his heart, he knew it was a good thing; that didn't mean he couldn't act disgruntled about it.

"We came close enough."

"Did we, Bolly? Didn't feel like it at the time. I never even snogged you."

He knew that had been largely his own fault, for stepping back whenever Alex had given him an opportunity to cross the line from friends and colleagues to something infinitely more scary. He would deny that it was fear that held him back though: it had simply been the right thing to do. Alex's position as a female D.I. put her at a disadvantage, and he was not one to take advantage of others. Sleeping with her senior officer until her presence had become unquestionable would have provided anyone with a grudge against either of them with ammunition sufficient to destroy her career and her reputation, and, even once her presence was taken for granted, the consequences could still have been disastrous. Even now, he wasn't sure whether sleeping with her in '83 would have been wise for either of them. Keats timing was deplorable, but Gene did sometimes wonder whether they would have come to regret the change in their relationship if they hadn't been so inopportunely interrupted. Here, now, there were no professional repercussions to consider, and the lack of professional disagreements would probably help too - if they got so far. There were a lot of residual misunderstandings that they needed to deal with first, and there were no guarantees they would cross lines they'd always shied away from before.

Alex glared at him across the table. "I wanted to hate you, you know," she said softly when the silence started to get uncomfortable. "When I first arrived. But as I got to know you, I found that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hate you. There was - there is - too much goodness in you."

"Or I let you walk all over me," Gene countered. He knew that hadn't really been the case, but it had felt like that at times.

"But you didn't. You fought me just about every step of the way."

"Arguing with you was the closest I was going to get to shagging you. Wasn't going to see you in the throes of passion otherwise."

"Now you tell me you disagreed with me for the sake of it," Alex's eyes sparkled with laughter even while her tone was sharp, and Gene shook his head in disagreement. The arguments that had run through their working relationship and had had so many implications for the rest of their interactions had always stemmed from genuinely differing opinions, but his previous statement hadn't been entirely without truth. Not trying to diffuse potential arguments, and often allowing them to build to full scale rows, had really been an indulgence. Time and again, events had proven just how dangerous his addiction to riling up his D.I. was, but he couldn't desist. "You were funny though," she continued after a moment's quiet. "So brash most of the time and then so self-conscious, even embarrassed when we had our heads together or we'd fallen asleep over a case and someone walked in."

"I told you, I didn't want your good name to get dragged through the mud." Gene's attempt at flippancy failed; his set shoulders and the roughness in his tone betraying his emotion.

"I sometimes wonder about when you asked me out, back in eighty-one: you were so uncomfortable, hurried to cover the whole thing with excuses and offer me every opportunity to say no before I'd even had a chance to process what you'd said."

"Took a lot of courage. You were way out of my league, even if you were happy to drop your knickers for the first yuppie twat who gave you a bottle of champers."

Alex smiled fondly, despite Gene's slightly berating tone. She'd earned that, even if it was curious - and slightly disconcerting - that Gene seemed to hold it against her over fifteen years later. "Oh, Gene," she sighed, "Whatever happened to 'posh totty and a bit of rough'?"

Gene shook his head and refused to answer, even though the events had occurred over two years apart. "You certainly know how to ask all the difficult questions, don't you?"

"Sorry," Alex said, remembering that she probably had a distinct advantage over Gene simply due to her lack of a hangover, despite the fact that this conversation was of his instigation. "You know, you're the kindest, gentlest man I've ever known, but even blind drunk, you manage to keep up the shouting and posturing. Just thinking about the effort that must have taken last night is tiring."

"I've a reputation to maintain, Bolly."

"Fear is a poor second cousin to respect, Gene."

"Should I be pleased or worried that you clearly never feared me?" Gene relaxed slightly, they were back on more comfortable ground, somewhere between flirting and serious discussion.

"Oh, pleased, I should hope. I respect you loads, even when you're at your most misogynistic."

"But you disagree with me most of the time."

"And think well enough of you to let you know it." Alex bit her lip, knowing that honesty was the only route. "I only ever did things without letting you know when you wouldn't give me a straight answer or were closing down an investigation without any explanation."

"I know that, Bolly." Gene tugged at his hair, uncomfortable."I kept telling you that trust worked both ways, and didn't exactly uphold my side of it."

"You did at the end."

"Was that what changed your mind?"

Alex looked at him quizzically. Gene had made a deductive leap she hadn't.

"At Luigi's. When I told you about Sam," Gene clarified.

"I guess." They fell into a long silence. Each mulling over what had been said.

"So, what now?" Gene asked eventually.

"Great, Gene Hunt goes all uncertain on me again," Alex grumbled, half-serious.

"I am not uncertain, I will have you know," Gene objected slightly too loudly, straightening up where he sat.

"So why was it I who ended up asking you out?" Alex countered softly, refusing to be drawn by Gene's argumentative tone.

"Good manners. And the knowledge that you already thought me an oaf so I was just saving you the trouble of losing your temper and rejecting me," Gene added, seeing Alex's disbelieving look.

Alex sighed. "After all we'd been through, you still didn't feel you could trust yourself around me, did you?"

Gene snorted. "Do you know how hard it was, working with you every day, and staying professional? Of course you didn't."

"You. In leather. Holding that. Gives me the horn," Alex managed a passable impression of Gene's accent.

"OK, so you did." He sighed and looked round uncomfortably.

"So, where does Ray live?" Gene asked, changing the subject abruptly as the silence stretched.

"He has a penthouse a bit on the other side of the pub. Lots of light. Fantastic views," Alex couldn't keep the tinge of envy out of her voice. Ray had certainly had the luck of the draw with his light and airy flat, even if she did find it a bit cold and impersonal compared to her own snug apartment which, while not identical to her old flat above Luigi's, was very similar.

"I would never have guessed."

"He ranted for about a week when we first came; declared it poncy," Alex told him, smiling fondly at the memory of Ray's outrage.

"Among other things, I'm sure."

"But it grew on him. I think he liked being able to see everything going on around him."

"Plus it's no doubt a nice place to bring birds."

"Gene!"

"I guess he and Chris and Shaz will be there tonight," Gene remarked, ignoring Alex's admonishment by changing the subject once again.

"No, actually. Ray and Sam still don't get on too well, and it's a big change, coming here. We ran it past Nelson who thought it was a good idea." She paused, looking away before looking up into Gene's face. "You never really let your guard down with Ray, not how you did with Sam and me. We thought you'd appreciate not feeling the need to maintain your image as the macho answer to everything." She kept a straight face, but could not entirely hide her amusement.

"I hate to say it, Bolly, but thank you." Gene's voice was gruff, and Alex understood that he wasn't saying thanks for the reduced company, but for giving him the opportunity to adjust. "Ray and Chris may have been with me for longest of any, but while you and Sam did not see me at my best, you made me want to be better. Without you two, I would have wilfully dismissed the Scarman report as malicious and soon been the epitome of everything that is wrong with the police."

"You know, I never dreamed of having any such influence," Alex said mildly.

"I know, you thought me devoid of any sense of humanity."

"That's not true, and you know it," Alex shot back, sharply. "I've told you before, and will no doubt tell you again and again," she continued more gently. "Underneath the macho bullshit, the posturing and the sexist comments - that you rarely actually meant - you were - you _are_ \- a good, kind, decent man."

"I stand corrected," Gene remarked sardonically.

"You knew it too, but were determined to hide it." Alex sighed. Sometimes she wanted to shake Gene until his teeth rattled. He was far too stubborn for his own good, and his bull-headedness had led to more arguments than she cared to count. His refusal to share information had been at the root of many of their more dramatic - and certainly their most damaging - disagreements. Not that their tempers had helped either, but Gene's habit of shutting her out had made it far too easy for others to divide them.

"You've got me there." Gene raised his glass in a mock toast.

Alex yawned, the late night catching up with her. "I think I'd best get going," she said. She could do with a shower and a nap, and there would be hell to pay if she hadn't read Gene's diary before they met in the evening. Gene needed time on his own too. His showman tendencies were only skin deep, after all. She had half expected a blunt dismissal when they'd reached his door, but now the first of what would no doubt be many awkward and difficult conversations had wound to a close and they both needed time and space to reflect on and accept some of the truths that had been offered up.

"Do you want to come round to mine before dinner?" she offered tentatively as she stood awkwardly behind the chair she'd been sitting in.

"Why not? I'll see you at six, then we'll go over to Sam and Annie's," Gene replied, rising to walk Alex to the door. "You sure you won't be bored?" he asked, standing in the open doorway.

"I have plenty to read," Alex told him, holding up the notebook.

Gene pulled her into a hug, holding her close and unwilling to let go. Alex may have raised most of the points, but they had managed to cover what he'd been spent the last six months screwing up the courage to say just as soon as he had the chance, knowing that the longer he left it, the harder the conversation would be, and the higher the likelihood that they would slip back into their old argumentative habits. Now the topics had been broached, the subsequent uncomfortable conversations would be easier - he hoped. He relaxed his hold when Alex raised her hand and turned his face to look at her.

"It'll be OK," she said softly. "I promise." She stretched up and pressed a kiss to his cheek before stepping back.

"See you later, Bolls," Gene said, voice a little tight as he forced himself to stay still and let her go. He watched as she walked briskly down the short path to the street and turn back the way they'd just come. Only once she was out of sight did he turn back into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> I will leave it there - for now.  
> 


End file.
